


these garden beds we lay in

by yikescaninot



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cops and thieves, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Kind of Valentine's Day?, M/M, Somber Piece, Some comfort, Thief!Akaashi, cop!bokuto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 00:12:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17818178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikescaninot/pseuds/yikescaninot
Summary: "You work gruelling hours upholding the very law that I’ve made a habit of breaking.”“Then would you stop? For me?”Bokuto and Akaashi have fallen into the comfortable rhythm of their relationship, maintained by one rule: no business talk outside of business hours.





	these garden beds we lay in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zelda (Zelda_writes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelda_writes/gifts).



> Hey hey hey, Zelda! I hope you enjoy your Valentine's fic. I know it's not quite the typical fluffy/cute fic one would normally expect from this holiday, but when have I ever done what's expected of me. HA. (oof) I tried a bit different of a style than I'd normally write in; I hope it worked. Happy (belated) Valentine's Day!

Sometimes on the walk back from work, Bokuto liked to detour several blocks in order to walk through a small park that nearly spilled over with flowers during the kinder months. The colours and smells were calming, and he appreciated the care it took to tend to such large beds. He didn’t have much of a green thumb himself, but he had managed to keep a couple small houseplants alive since transferring to his current precinct. He wasn’t entirely sure it was by his care that they flourished, though.

For a moment he allowed himself to think of sharp eyes that were either blue or green depending on the lighting, the day of the week, the cycle of the moon, the—Well, they were never quite consistent, is what he figured, but that was fitting given the man they belonged to.

Today he didn’t detour through the park. It had been a long shift, longer than it usually felt, and he wanted nothing more than to kick off his shoes, hang up his holster, and turn on anything but the news for background noise while he worked out. Or made supper. Breakfast? He squinted at the screen of his phone as he pulled open the main doors of his apartment building. Breakfast it was, then.

On the way up to his apartment, mercifully the corner unit of the top floor with two vacant units between him and the closest neighbour, he worked his hand through his drooping hair. The small bit of wax he had used to keep it back had been washed out by the sweat of several foot chases, but it still held enough that he could push it back from his eyes and not have it fall back down while he worked his key into the lock.

“I’m home,” he mumbled to his empty apartment as he pushed through the door and stepped on the heels of his shoes to take them off. He kicked them in the general direction of his shoe rack before shrugging off his jacket, taking care to at least hang that up so it wouldn’t wrinkle before his next shift.

A breeze making its way through the apartment gave him pause. He had been certain that he locked everything up before leaving the morning prior. He had checked twice, even tapping off the reminders in his phone for each window and door. It was a habit he had gotten into early on, even though he knew who it was that continued to let himself in.

“You couldn’t have shut the window behind yourself this time, Akaashi?” Bokuto rounded the corner to the kitchen where, sure enough, the familiar man was standing at his counter, wearing his apron, and cutting—vegetables? He walked over, a hand finding Akaashi’s hip as he leaned around the slighter male to sneak a piece of the pepper on the cutting board.

Blue—green?—eyes turned to him with a fond amusement even as Akaashi smacked at his hand lightly to stop him from stealing another piece. “I got caught up with _work_ and almost didn’t make it here in time to start supper for you.” His eyes shifted to the clock on the wall and Bokuto watched him quirk a small smile. “Or should I say breakfast? And are we really back to last names, _Bokuto-san?_ I thought we had moved past that.”

Bokuto hummed slightly, but his hand gripped Akaashi’s hip a bit closer and he rested his head on the other’s shoulder. There would come a day in the future where he wouldn’t come home to Akaashi cooking food, or lounging with a book, and they both knew that. They enjoyed it while they could. “What’d you steal this time?” Bokuto heard himself ask.

Akaashi tutted, but there was no real annoyance behind it as he briefly pressed his temple to Bokuto’s. “No business talk outside of business hours. I’m sure you’ll hear about it anyways tomorrow at work.”

“That good, huh?” Bokuto hesitated to ask. Akaashi only hummed in response, and they stood like that, with Bokuto folded around the other, for several minutes while Akaashi finished cutting the vegetables in front of him. Bokuto turned his head, nuzzling into the curve of Akaashi’s neck. “They’re going to catch you eventually. I can’t keep protecting you, you know.” Now that he was older, Bokuto had more or less gotten a hold of the mood swings that dragged him down so frequently as a teenager, but the thought of Akaashi behind bars, or worse, made him feel like someone had tied cinderblocks to his heart and dropped it off the edge of a pier.

As if sensing the sudden drop in Bokuto’s already low-energy mood, Akaashi set the knife down and turned to wrap his arms around the other’s waist. He leaned back against the edge of the counter, pulling Bokuto to rest his weight against him, though he was careful not to touch Bokuto’s holster or gun. Bokuto had learned early on that Akaashi had no love for the weapon. Akaashi’s face was its usual neutral mask, though Bokuto could see the thoughtful way in which Akaashi looked at him.

“It’s a good thing, then, that I don’t need your protection,” Akaashi said simply.

“I know. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to.” Bokuto smiled and it almost reached his eyes. When the timer, in the shape of a sleepy round owl, rang from where it sat on the counter, Bokuto pressed a kiss to Akaashi’s forehead then went to change out of his work clothes.

He walked like a man burdened by the weight of the world, but Atlas knew nothing of how _his_ world had quickly realigned to include Akaashi at its centre. From the kitchen he could hear Akaashi moving around, finishing up whatever dish he’d elected to make them. As he slipped the holsters from his shoulders and draped them over the edge of the headboard, Bokuto’s eyes lingered on his dresser, half of it emptied months ago for clothes that he had hoped but never expected to fill them. Turning his eyes to the floor he pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and left it at that, knowing he’d have to shower before bed if he wanted to sleep well.

By the time he returned to the kitchen, Akaashi had plated their stir fry and rice and set it at the small table tucked against the wall. It suited them fine; Bokuto never had guests over, and he had long since thought of the space as Akaashi’s just as much as his own. He sat in his chair, taking a moment to appreciate the way the food smelled before picking up his chopsticks and digging in.

“Long day, Kou?” Tea was set down on the table before long arms slipped around his shoulders, Akaashi leaning into his back.

Bokuto’s hand found its way to Akaashi’s crossed forearms, holding them in place against his bare collar. Sighing, he set the chopsticks down and turned his head to kiss Akaashi’s arm before nodding. “Very. They’re talking of doing a big shift transfer. I might take the opportunity to go work in a different unit.” He closed his eyes, relaxing slightly when he felt Akaashi’s cheek resting on his hair.

“You’ve been working patrol as long as I’ve known you. A change of pace might do you well. Who knows, you might even get to be the one to bring me in.” Akaashi’s tone was teasing, and Bokuto could picture the way his eyes lit up in amusement.

He snorted slightly and shifted back in his chair so he could pull Akaashi down into his lap. The only light on in the room was the one angled towards the counter and cooktop, so in their dim nook Bokuto allowed himself to pretend. The dresser was full. The spare key was no longer in a drawer, but on a keyring that hung beside Bokuto’s every night. The little knick knacks around his apartment were there because _they_ picked them out, not just randomly appearing for reminding Akaashi of him. No more ducking out of conversations at work when a new theft was added to the string of open cases. No more wondering — _worrying_ _—_ where Akaashi was if he hadn’t shown up for a while.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi said softly, voice soft like the sun on overflowing flowers. Warm hands cradled his face, guiding it up so that, when Akaashi’s thumbs were rubbing soothing lines over the crests of his cheeks, he could look into those green-blue-green eyes and come back to reality. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, ‘kaashi,” he mumbled without looking away.

“It very well could be. You work gruelling hours upholding the very law that I’ve made a habit of breaking.”

“Then would you stop? For me?” He couldn’t help the hope that crept into his words. His arms tightened a bit around Akaashi, wanting so badly to feel the warmth of that embrace every time he came home.

Akaashi’s eyes searched his face for a long moment—long enough that Bokuto felt himself waiver, ready to dismiss the words. “If I were to stop for anyone, it would be you.”

Bokuto let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. It may not have been the answer he had been hoping for in so many words, but it leant a weight to their tumultuous relationship he hadn’t known it lacked. One of Bokuto’s favourite things about Akaashi was that he was an open book to read if one only knew the language in which to read him. By now Bokuto prided himself on being fluent, so he took comfort in the mirrored familiarity of harrowed nights—nights he left windows unlatched after hearing about busts, thankful when he woke up to a dishevelled Akaashi reading on his couch or crawling into bed beside him.

“You mean it?”

Something in Akaashi’s expression shifted—softened, almost—and he lifted up from Bokuto’s lap, moving so that when he sat back down, he was seated with his thighs framing Bokuto’s waist. “Yes, Koutarou.” He peppered kisses across his face, hands resting comfortably on Bokuto’s shoulders.”I mean it.”

Bokuto could feel the tension falling from his shoulders in landslides under Akaashi’s attention. His hands moved to wrap around Akaashi’s forearms, feeling the sturdy warmth he had come to associate with _home._ He closed his eyes, letting himself relax into the affection, but in the silence of the apartment, he could feel the cases and dispatched calls from the day. They sharpened the edges of the moment, reminding him of their roles outside of his four walls.

“I don’t see your badge, Kou. Stop thinking about work.”

Warm lips pressed against his own, and he held back a sigh, leaning after them when they pulled back slightly. Bokuto’s eyes flicked up to Akaashi’s, admiring the man wrapped around him. “It’s hard not to. The movies never show you the worst of the job, huh.”

“No, I suppose they don’t.” Akaashi looked at him a moment before smiling softly, thumbs rubbing comforting arcs against Bokuto’s collar. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight. Not… not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Is that alright?” When Akaashi nodded in agreement, Bokuto smiled.

Akaashi had told him once that if he was the flowers—the colourful moments that brought joy into Bokuto’s life, then Bokuto himself surely had to be the sun, for anything he shared was only because Bokuto gave him the means to do so. It wasn’t a discussion that Bokuto thought of regularly, but when Akaashi’s smile reached his eyes, and his attention was solely on Bokuto, it was one that Bokuto could believe wholeheartedly.

“Keiji,” Bokuto whispered, cherishing the way the name felt, the way it sounded in the closeness of their embrace. He chased the smile that tugged at the corner of Akaashi’s lips, kissing away the pleased hum Akaashi made.

After a sixteen-hour day, it should not have been as easy to lift Akaashi as it was, but his hands found their way under Akaashi’s thighs and he stood. He didn’t need to see to make his way to his bedroom, having memorized the layout of his apartment and furniture ages ago so he wouldn’t have to turn lights on after shifts. Instead, he turned his attention to the curve of Akaashi’s throat, pulling pleased sighs from the thief, intent on spending the rest of his waking moments traversing another landscape he had memorized.

* * *

 

When he woke up the next morning, it was to an empty space in bed beside him. The ache that accompanied the absence hurt less than it used to. Akaashi rarely lingered after waking up, and never after Bokuto had asked him to consider changing his profession. Bokuto dragged a hand down his face with a weary sigh before sitting up.

The light coming through the windows was soft; it couldn’t have been later than ten. A tired glance over to his phone confirmed that before he dropped the device back onto the nightstand. Chasing after Akaashi was like trying to catch smoke with his hands but that didn’t stop him from setting a hand on the sheets where the other had fallen asleep. The sheets still held some of their warmth, but not enough for Bokuto to think Akaashi might be in another room.

As he reached down for his pair of sweatpants and stood to pull them on, the sun reflecting off something on the other nightstand caught his eye. He wasn’t in the habit of leaving anything on that side of the room, opting to keep things he’d need on the side closest to the door, so any items there had often been left behind by Akaashi.

That morning there was a small box, white and square, with a golden card lying flat on top of it. When he lifted the card and opened it, the light reflected off the glitter in the colouring again, almost distracting him from the neat handwriting inside.

 

>                     _Koutarou—_
> 
> _I never dreamed that you would become such an impossibly fundamental part of my life.  I may never be able to repay the love and care you have shown me, but I would like to spend as long as you’ll let me trying. I’ve included the address of where you’ll locate the items from yesterday’s job. Have a good day at work. Happy Valentine’s Day._
> 
> _—Keiji_

True to his word, Akaashi had written an address at the bottom of the card, as well as a number. Typing the address into his phone, Bokuto saw it was for a train station, several stops away from his own. He assumed the added number was for a locker, and he felt that often-tamped down flutter of hope lift in his chest. He set the card down gently, as if jostling it too much would loosen the words from the card and make them vanish like their writer. Inside the box were chocolates in the shapes of small, round owls, small lines etched into their wings and chest.

His morning passed in a blur, his usual routine of jogging around the neighbourhood and cleaning up from the night before thrown out of the window in exchange for phoning in an anonymous tip and going to the station early. Instead of a filling breakfast, he had chased half the box of chocolates with lukewarm black coffee and a slice of toast he had forgotten to butter in his haste out the door. It was his favourite breakfast that week.

His partner clapped him on the shoulder as they got ready, saying something about how he was glad to see Bokuto in good spirits after the previous day. Bokuto wasn’t fully listening. He had his ear trained to the radio. When they were dispatched, he could hardly contain the hum of energy that tingled along every nerve ending. It paired well with the doubt that shadowed the hope he had felt since finding the card—kept him on edge.

The train station was crowded when he and a half a dozen other officers entered, each on high alert and scanning their surroundings. When it was located, the locker was searched without incident. Neatly placed inside were several bags and boxes filled with stolen valuables, as well as a ledger that traced each item back to its owner and to the parties who had purchased others. From a quick skim through the pages, Bokuto couldn’t see a single mention of Akaashi’s name. He hoped it wasn’t just an eager oversight (it wasn't; a string of arrests were made over the course of the following weeks in connection to the locker. Akaashi’s name was never on the warrant).

After work, he detoured through the small park. Small pinpoints of colour dotted the flowerbeds as buds promising full blooms started lifting towards the sun, and he found himself smiling. It would be a good year for the flowers. For him, too, he hoped.

The thought of the flower beds’ potential stayed with him until he got to his apartment building. He fidgeted with his keys as he stepped out of the stairwell onto his floor, his eyes only lifting when he saw a familiar pair of shoes in front of his door. Blue-green-blue eyes were steady on his own when they met, and he felt his smile stretch into a grin when he saw the duffel bag over Akaashi’s shoulder.

“Welcome home, Koutarou.”

“Welcome home, Keiji.”

The warmth that spread through his chest at Akaashi’s smile ushered in promises of overflowing flower beds, and, as he unlocked the door to an apartment that would no longer feel empty, he knew it would be a good year for them, too.  

  


**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Let me know what you thought!


End file.
